The Price for Lickin' Tom Sawyer
by funyun
Summary: What would have happened if it had been Tom who died instead of Huck?
1. The Lickin'

Okay, so, this is my first fic, so please DON'T be gentle. I need the flames for advice. All of you people who like Sawyer, please don't bodily harm me, as I am a fan as well. This is just something that has been bugging me forever.

Disclaimer: I don't own Tom Sawyer, Huck Finn, the Fantom, or any related characters.

The Lickin'

            Huckleberry Finn walked casually along an alley near the East London Docks. He and his partner, Tom Sawyer, had been trailing a terrorist who called himself the Fantom for a week or so. _Sheesh__, what a stupid nickname,_ he thought. _Tom will definitely approve._ Huck smirked a little at that thought. It was dark and foggy, and Huck's jacket was nearly soaking from it.

            Huck turned the corner and came to a warehouse. Tom was already there, leaning against the building. He caught sight of Huck and put a finger to his lips and pulled his pistols, a slight click as he cocked the hammers. _On three,_ he mouthed. _One, two, THREE!_

            Tom and Huck burst through the door, and saw that they were surrounded by 20 of the Fantom's men, all with rifles aimed at them. Tom blinked.

            "I threaten to start a world war, and this is the best that America can send? A couple of gun toting children?" The Fantom was wearing a long fur coat over a plate of armor. He wore a silver mask covering most of his face, and the parts that could be seen were heavily scarred. His voice was heavily accented and sounded rough. Huck looked over at Tom. He was bristling with anger, guns still held up, now pointed at the Fantom. The Fantom pulled out his own gun and pointed it directly at Huck's chest. "Put the guns down, Agent Sawyer, or your friend dies." Begrudgingly, Tom bent to his knees and laid his precious guns on the ground. "Kick them over here," said the Fantom. Gently, Tom complied. The Fantom kept his guns pointed at Huck's chest. "I should just kill you both now."

            For a moment, Huck locked eyes with the Fantom. He knew what the Fantom was going to do, and braced himself. He looked over at Tom, and thanked God it wouldn't be him.

            Tom saw the shared look between Huck and the Fantom, and the horror dawned on him.

            "However, only one of you will come out of here in a body bag tonight." He pulled the trigger.

            At the same moment, Tom Sawyer jumped, pushing Huck to the side and taking the bullet himself. He fell heavily to the ground, blood gushing from his wound.

            Both Huck and the Fantom stared at Tom. Then the Fantom regained his senses and yelled to his men "Let's go!" before turning and running.

            Huck stood there for half an instant, but to him it seemed like a lifetime. He stared down at Tom's doubled over form disbelievingly. Tom's moan of pain wakened him from his reverie. Huck crouched beside him and gently rested Tom's head on his knees. "Oh, God, Tom, I'm so sorry—"

            "No," Tom gasped. "Don't tell me you're sorry. I did this to myself. Just do me one favor?"

            "Anything," Huck said in a trembling voice.

            "Get him for me. Show him that nobody licks Tom Sawyer without a price." Tom let his head fall sink into Huck's knees and made a choking noise, and then he was gone.

            Huck for the second time that night just sat and stared for a moment, letting it sink in. Dead? Tom Sawyer? No, he couldn't be, he was the most levelheaded person that Huck had ever known. He wouldn't go down in a stupid gunfight in a nameless warehouse. For five minutes, Huck let himself believe that his friend was alive before a sob that had been working its way up his chest forced its way out. He pulled Tom's head up next to his shoulder and cried into the dead man's hair. His lips moved in a prayer that the Widow Douglas had taught him, but when he looked up, his eyes were full of anger. "I'm gonna show him what the price is, Tom. I'll show him for ya."


	2. Suspended

Thank you to all who reviewed my story. I will do my best to follow your advice. Yes, I have read both The Adventures of Tom Sawyer and The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. Is this web page formatting? If not, let me know. A computer whiz I am not. Suggestions are welcome, actually, anything is welcome. NO, this is NOT meant to be slash. 'Lickin'' means that the Fantom beat him in a fight. Anyway, advice is STILL and ALWAYS welcome!!!

Disclaimer: Same as before, I don't own anyone except Tad Meyers and the unknown aide.

Suspended

            Huckleberry Finn walked into the Head of the Secret Service's office. Tad Meyers did not look happy. He sat in the windowless room staring at plain walls. Tad had once known action, but those days had passed when he came to administration. He was balding and rather overweight, but he could still strike terror in the hearts of new recruits, and most of the older agents, except for two. Well, one, now. Tad looked up at the one agent in the American Secret Service who was not afraid of him. "Why, hullo, Mr. Finn. What brings you here today?"

            "You know what brings me here, sir." Huck was not in the mood for games, having just recently come from a very public and uncomfortable funeral in Missouri. In his youth, he had been painfully shy, but the years had washed away most of it. It had come back full force at Tom's funeral, but was now forgotten in his anger. 

            "Alright then, Finn, we'll get to the point. I'm taking you off the Fantom assignment."

            "What?!!" Huck stood up so quickly that his chair nearly fell over. He had been expecting this, but the actual realization of his fears was like a slap to the face. "You can't take me of this case! I'm the only agent who really understands the magnitude of what the Fantom is trying to do!" His emotions were taking control, and he knew it, but that didn't mean he was going to stop it.

            "Please, Finn, keep yourself in check."

            "Keep myself in CHECK?!! That was my partner out there, my best friend who's DEAD! I have to be on this case." Huck finished quietly.

            "Look, Huck, I truly am sorry about Sawyer. He was a good agent, truly a good agent. He had guts, and that's something you don't find too often."

            Huck found himself calming down slightly, and he sat down slowly. "But, gosh darn it, I've gotta—"

            "Don't tell me what you have to or don't have to do, because as long as you are in my department, you do what _I _tell you to. Finn, it's _because_ of your friendship with Sawyer that I can't let you take this one. Your emotions would only get in the way. I know it's hard for you, but that's just the way it works. You either deal with that, or you're suspended for the duration of this assignment."

            Huck took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Then he slowly stood and walked over to Meyers desk and leaned down, resting his palms on the desk. "I think you're gonna have to suspend me, sir," he said quietly and evenly.

            Meyers nodded slowly. "Very well, then. You'll be notified when everything's been wrapped up."

            Huck suddenly smiled, and said, "Oh, you won't have to worry about that. I'm sure I'll be the first to know." He straightened, turned on his heel and left the featureless office. Tad smiled, and turned back to his work.

            About 20 minutes after Huck had vacated the bland office, one of Tad's aides walked in, carrying a large stack of files that he was obviously struggling to keep a hold on. He had his chin resting on top and both hands supporting it from underneath. The aide staggered over and dropped them unceremoniously on Tad's desk. He let out a huge sigh and started going into details of reports that needed signing, assignments that needed to be doled out. "Oh, and by the way, sir, I noticed that Special Agent Finn is off the Fantom case. We downstairs were wondering who you were planning on replacing him with…?"

            Tad smiled to himself, and said in a self assured manner, "I don't think we'll be needing to put another agent on that case." At the aide's questioning look, he finished, "Just call it a hunch, and trust me. I think everything will work itself out just fine."


	3. Improvising

Thank you to all who reviewed. You have been a really great help to me, and you are the main fuel on which this story burns. Sucky chapter title, not so good with names. Please bear with me if the format is impossible. I'm experimenting.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, especially not the League of Extraordinary Gentleman.

Improvising

As Huck was walking away from Meyers' office, he realized through his anger that he had no idea of where to start looking for the Fantom without Secret Service intelligence. For a brief second, he considered going back to Meyers and asking to come back on, just long enough to find out where he could find the Fantom. However, his pride got in the way and the thought was quickly discarded. 

            Huck looked around as he walked through the halls he knew so well, and saw the faces of friends staring at him intently. He gazed into each of their eyes individually and watched as their heads whipped down. _Oh, yes,_ Huck thought. _The nation's finest, not even able to keep a straight face to their own._ He gave a disgusted snort, and walked on out the doors, blinking at the bright sunshine in comparison to the gloomy darkness inside. His own teammates, his supposed friends had known what was going to happen and didn't bother to tell him. These thoughts shoved away any notions of going back to ask for help. Oh, yes, from here on out he was on his own. Quickly he went through all the information that he had had available during his brief stint on the assignment. He sat on a bench and reviewed his memories for nearly an hour before he gave up. _Dangit, everythin' I do know, he's either finished doin' it or moved somewhere else. He's like water!_  Having no other choices, he headed out to the New York harbor to get passage on the fastest boat to England. He was just going to have to start from there.

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            Huck stifled a sigh of impatience as he waited outside another abandoned home on the East London Docks. This was the end of his second week of stakeout, just waiting for a sign that the Fantom had been there or was now residing there. So far, nothing. Nothing but some empty liquor bottles. He slowly bent down and picked one up. He smiled wearily at it, the impulsively threw it against the building across the street from him. Half a second later, Huck saw movement, just out o f the corner of his eye. Instinctively, he crouched down and pulled Tom's Colts—he had kept them in honor of Tom's memory. He walked towards where the movement had come from, low to the ground. As he did he saw what the movement had been—a brute with a platoon helmet and a piece of cloth hanging idle at the side of his face. A cigarette was hanging haphazardly from his mouth. His gun, if you could call it that, was boxy and covered in rivets. It had nothing of the style that Huck's modified Winchester had. He suddenly realized that he had seen that uniform before—on the Fantom's men! Huck silently crept closer to the goon.

            Then he realized what he was doing and nearly burst out laughing. He was doing exactly what Tom would've done! Or maybe not. He didn't know for sure. Either way, he was going to do it his way, so the world better get used to it. 

            Carefully he rested the Colts back in their holsters. Still crouching, he moved away from the goon to a small, almost invisible corner to anyone who did not know it was there. It was the backside of a small building; the bottom half of the wall covered with boxes shoved against it, and had small posters advertising the names Alan Moore and Kevin O'Neill. Huck had found it while searching out this place when he had just arrived. He laid his Winchester on the ground and begrudgingly unfastened his holsters and placed them on the ground. 

            Then Huck turned around and straightened. He started walking purposefully towards the goon, but caught himself. He stretched his arms out in front of himself and staggered around the dividing wall, squinting his eyes. 

            Huck looked over at the goon, who was now staring at him full on, his cigarette hanging from the side of his mouth. Cautiously, Huck dropped to the grime covered street and moved his hands back and forth over the cobbles, muttering about a pair of glasses, portraying a general sense of panic. He continued this until he reached the goon's feet and stood up, using the goon's leg as a guide. "Oh, sir, perchance have ya seen a pair of glasses? Oh, please help me, I'm blind as a bat without 'em!" he said, going on in a babble. The goon wasn't looking too interested, so Huck had to think up something quick. "I'd be willin' to give a reward if you'd be so kind as to help me…" Suddenly the goon's eyes lit up, and a sneaky smile lit his face. Apparently, the Fantom didn't pay his goons well enough.

            "Yeah, okay, okay, I'll help you find your glasses if you'll just shut up." The goon put his gun down, thinking that Huck couldn't do him any harm, not thinking of the circumstances or their location. 

            Seeing his opportunity to get the machine gun out of the equation, Huck clumsily stumbled over to the goon and vigorously shook his hand, saying, "Oh, thank you so much. It means a lot to me, it does!" while 'accidentally' kicking the gun far away from them. "Now, I know I lost it somewhere right around here, so how 'bout we start here?"

            The goon nodded his head and bent down, looking around for a nonexistent pair of glasses. 

            Huck smiled wryly and bent down, picking up the lid to a box lying nearby. He raised it high above his head and brought it smashing down on the goon's head. The goon dropped to the ground without a sound.

            Huck's smile turned into a full on grin. He jogged over to where he had his guns hidden and retrieved them. He tried the door that the goon had apparently been guarding, but found it was locked. Huck was amazed that one of the Fantom's men had finally shown a smidgen of common sense and intelligence. He bent down and searched the goon and found what he was looking for in the goon's right hand pocket.

            Huck was about to unlock the door when he thought about how he was going to get to the Fantom the way he was dressed: a well worn shirt that was covered in dirt stains and missing several of its buttons, a  pair of black pants with holes in both knees, and an overcoat over all of it.

            Huck shrugged off his overcoat and carefully pulled the goon's coat off him. He pulled it on and grabbed the goon's helmet and scarf. He put them on, and then tipped the helmet towards the unconscious goon. "Thanks."

            Huck walked towards the door again, taking a wide berth around the ugly machine gun as if it would give him bad luck. As he put the key into its slot, he realized he had no idea what he was going to do. He sighed. "Let's hear it for improvisation," and with that, he quietly opened the door and slipped inside.

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A/N—Yes, there really is a building with signs that say Kevin O'Neill and Alan Moore in the movie. Go watch and see!


	4. Friendly Fire

Okay, so, this message never changes. Advice is always welcome, highly encouraged, actually. Tell me if I suck.

Disclaimer: I don't own anyone. And it is more than likely I never will.

Friendly Fire

            Huck walked through the hallways surrounding a bright library containing the Fantom and several others—he didn't know how many. He hadn't seen, but he could hear the Fantom's voice and other voices he didn't recognize. 

            Finally, he found what he had been looking for—a staircase. He took the steps two at a time then slowed as he reached the top, stopping just before he came out into the open hallway. Huck glanced around the corner and saw so many gunmen that his courage nearly failed him. He took a few deep breaths, his mind racing. 

            Silently, Huck stepped around the corner at the end of the hallway, staying just outside of the view of those down the next hallway. He drew a deep breath and pulled his Winchester up and aimed at the nearest gunman, who was focusing on the people downstairs and didn't even notice Huck. He pulled the trigger, but didn't wait to watch him fall. He aimed again for the next one, shot him, and aimed for the next one before they finally realized they were being fired upon. However, that one seemed have shaken off his stupor, because he dove to the other side of the railing and came running towards Huck, firing his machine gun wildly and missing completely. 

            Huck decided not to wait for the gunman to get a better aim. He rearranged his grip on the Winchester so that he was holding it by the barrel, and turned down the next hallway, screaming through the scarf, "Oh, God, they've gone mad and they're trying to shoot ALL OF US!" as he ran past them. They turned they're guns towards the threshold he had just passed through. When the wildly firing gunman ran around the corner, he was met with a shower of bullets.

            Huck dropped to one knee and quickly shot the remaining men in the corridor. He jumped to his feet and looked out the nearest casement onto the floor below. Paper was flying everywhere, and among the Fantom's men were scattered five others, each fighting by themselves. He didn't remember any of the details of the five, having sighted the man he was looking for: the Fantom. Huck couldn't stay long, though, because after only a moment of looking five of the Fantom's men came dashing around the corner and nearly plowed into Huck. 

            As Huck was the only one still standing in that particular corridor, the gunmen correctly assumed that he was the 'madman'. Suddenly five machine guns were pointed directly at Huck's chest. "Oh, shi—," he said in a rushed voice, not completing the thought as he dove for the staircase, bullets whizzing past him a little too close for comfort. 

            Huck rolled over and grabbed the railing, swinging himself out from the staircase. He dropped awkwardly to the ground and wrenched his ankle badly. Huck winced at the pain, but steeled himself, remembering his purpose. He limped quickly in the direction he had seen the Fantom going, before realizing that he had lost all sense of direction in his plummet from the staircase. 

            Huck had begun to search around the corridors before he heard a yelled, "Run, James!" He looked to his left and saw the faces of one of the Fantom's men and an older man with worn clothes, but not like Huck's.  Huck hurried in the direction that the soldier had called.

            Rounding the corner with a skid, Huck caught sight of the Fantom and chased after him, limping heavily. The Fantom moved along towards the stairs, significantly faster than the normally quick agent. 

The Fantom dashed up some rickety old stairs and Huck, seeing his chance, took a shot at one of the stair steps. The Fantom's foot crashed through the floor, sticking out at an odd angle. He cried out, but strangely it did not sound like his normal voice but thinner, less throaty. "An ankle for an ankle," Huck whispered to himself. 

The Fantom jerked his foot out of the hole and hobbled up the steps rather quickly considering the damage just done. Huck, who had been breathing a sigh of relief, started at this sudden movement and came after just as quick.

Unfortunately, the Fantom had too far of a head start. Just as Huck's head popped up to the next floor, the Fantom leaped out the window into the water below.

Huck cursed softly. The entire chase had been for nothing. He listened for a moment and no longer heard the sounds of gunfire. "Well, might as well be getting' back to all the lovely people," Huck said to himself and walked slowly back towards the library.


	5. Opportunities

It was days like these that made Huck just want to go back to St. Petersburg and sit in a hogshead for the rest of his life, never worrying about anything like revenge or world domination. This was what was rolling through his mind as he pointed his Winchester at the previously believed dead soldier who was holding a tall woman with stately features with a knife to her neck. 

            "Shoot! Go on!" Slowly, they all put down their weapons. "I guessed as much. That they would do anything to protect you." Huck stifled a frustrated sigh just in time. The man was right. 

            "See, that's your biggest mistake, thinking I need them to protect me," the woman said in a faint and deadly whisper, her eyes turning a deep shade of red. Or Huck thought they did. He must have been imagining it. The man who held her gave a slight growl intent on frightening her, but she did not waver.

            The next events went in a blur for Huck. The woman flipped in the soldier's grasp and grabbed his head in both hands, yanking it up and over to one side and providing a wonderful view for Huck. Unceremoniously she dug her teeth—fangs—into the soldier's neck. Huck jerked his head away, slightly nauseated at the sight, but this did not ease his suffering. The sounds of sucking and faint whimpers of shock and alarm from the soldier still reached Huck's ears. Then a faint thump which caused him to jerk his head back in the direction of the noise: the woman had dropped the poor man. She jerked her head back and licked her fingers noisily. She brushed her hair back quickly and easily, as if she had done this often. 

            Huck just stood there for a moment, dumbstruck, before coming to his senses. He casually walked out into the open space of the library, gaining the attention of most of the others. Taking a deep breath, he said, "Well, this sure as hell beats any haint I ever saw back in Missouri." 

            The woman looked uncomfortable for a moment before turning a glare on Huck. "And you are?"

            "Huck Finn, of the American Secret Service," he said, clutching his Winchester tightly as if it comforted him.

            "Then America is aware of the situation?"

            "Well, they figure if it starts in Europe, it won't take long to get across the Atlantic." The woman flipped her red scarf over her shoulder slightly disdainfully. "I've been staking this place out for a while, and, well… when the opportunity provided itself, I took it."

            "Well, I'm taking this opportunity to inform you that this is a private party, not to mention private property, and _you're_ not invited," said a sneering man with a dark complexion and a pinstripe suit on, complete with matching cane. Huck suddenly found a deep dislike growing within him. A thought nagged him at the back of his head, but he pushed it back into the background. 

            The woman, dressed in black with a bright red scarf tight around her neck, turned to face Huck. A slightly triumphant smile graced her flawless features. "Actually, Dorian had declined. So we are one shy of a full deck."

            "On the contrary; the battle was just the spur I needed." Dorian turned to Huck, haughtiness evident in his voice. "So you're _not_ needed." 

            Huck's anger flared up. He said, "Well, mister, the way I figured it, since we're both trying to get the Fantom, and we're both not gonna stop, if we weren't together we'd be a powerful hindrance to each other." 

            Huck was saved from further having to go into explanation by the man who Huck had seen before walked towards him. He held out his hand expectantly and Huck begrudgingly handed his prized Winchester to the man. The man put the gun up to his eye as if inspecting it. "Winchester?" he asked. 

            Huck nodded and hooked his thumbs in the holsters of his Colts, close enough that he could whip them out quickly. At these thoughts his eyes shifted over to Dorian and flipped back to the man before him. "Modified—American style."

            "American style shooting, too."

            Huck shrugged. "Can't complain. It gets the job done." The other man handed Huck back his gun. Huck saw his window of opportunity closing. If he didn't join these people, he would have almost no hope of finding the Fantom on his own. "Listen, no matter who you find, you won't find anyone more dedicated to finding the Fantom than me."

            The man smiled, as if remembering something sad, and said quietly, "You're in."

-------------

            Huck quickly found out the names of his counterparts in the 'League of Extraordinary Gentleman'. Dorian Gray, who was an immortal, Allan Quatermain, a hunter, Rodney Skinner, who was invisible, Captain Nemo, whose services had yet to be revealed to Huck, and Mina Harker, who was a vampire. 

            "So what's our next port of call?" Gray asked. Huck didn't know what it was, but something about Gray made him shudder.

            "Paris. There is one last member to recruit," said Nemo

            "Capture is more the word, and it will be quite the hunt," Quatermain said.

            Mina looked at them oddly. "You make him sound like some kind of animal."

            Quatermain turned and looked at Mina slightly questioningly. "Oh, speaking thus, Mrs. Harker, your conduct, a moment ago?"

            Skinner turned, amusement evident in his face. "Yes, we're all _aquiver_ to know," he said.

            Mrs. Harker walked out ahead of the rest of the group. Quietly she told them of what had happened. Huck was filled with sympathy. Strangely enough, she reminded him of Mary Jane. Pretty and full of sand. 

            Suddenly the waters began churning ahead of the dock. "Ah, our transportation is forthcoming."

            "A boat?" Huck asked. Suddenly he felt himself grow eager. He hadn't been on a boat for a while(excluding the trip to Europe) and he was impatient to get back to one. 

            "It travels on water, if that's what you mean," said Nemo, turning to face them and crossing his arms over his chest. Out of nowhere, a gigantic metal ship surged out of the water, towering high above their heads. The entire league craned their necks to see the silver inscriptions on it. "And beneath it."

            "That beats the hell out of any steamboat I ever saw," Huck said in a whisper.

            As they boarded, the little nagging thought at the back of his head finally came to the fore: if the house belonged to Gray, how had the Fantom's men acquired a key?

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This is off topic, but does anyone know for sure how Tom Sawyer's parents died?


	6. Call Me Huck

Hello, back again. Sorry in taking so long, I had to study for my Driver's Knowledge Exam(I passed!). Um… yet again, I ask, does anyone have any idea about what happened to Tom's parents? Yes, Mary Jane does exist. Read the book.

Disclaimer: I own no one.

Call Me Huck

            Huck flopped down onto the bed exhaustedly. Suddenly he was very tired. He wanted to go to sleep and let these people handle the rest of the mission. After all, they were so much better equipped to deal with it than he. 

            Huck let out a disgusted snort. Yeah, sure, he would just coast along and let them deal with it. No, there was no way he could do that after what had happened to Tom. He knew that if he was not the one to get the Fantom, he would never be able to forgive himself. After all, Tom had asked him too. That was just like him, to make it dramatic, like in the books. 

            Huck shook his head, trying to get those thoughts out of his head and to wake up. He sat up, grabbed his pistols and strode out the door purposefully. It wasn't long before he remembered that he had no idea of where he was going. He realized he was hungry, so he might as well start off by looking for a dining room. 

            For what seemed like hours but could only be minutes, he wandered the endless hallways of the Nautilus before coming to Captain Nemo and Allan Quatermain. "Could you direct me to your dining room?" Huck asked the captain. He was dressed, as always, in his blue and silver outfit. Nemo pointed him in the right direction and, voila, there it was. Huck thought he had been past that room a couple of times, but decided not to worry about it. He was hungry. 

            He grabbed a plate and shoved some strange looking stuff onto it—maybe fish—and walked over to the table where Skinner was sitting. Well, at least, his coat and sunglasses were. He set down his plate and waited for Skinner to say something, not wanting to be caught talking to thin air. Then Huck almost laughed. That would have been something Tom would've done: outfitted the chair so he thought Skinner was there and then get a good chuckle listening to Huck talk to himself.

            "'Lo, Skinner."

            "Finn." Gee, he sure was talkative.

            "Call me Huck. Hey, I don't mean to be rude, but, uh, how did you get, uh…" Huck gestured around himself.

            "Invisible, you mean?" Huck nodded. "Well, it's actually a very interesting story…"

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            Huck threw his head back in laughter. "You, you can't be serious!" Huck gasped.

            "Now, Huck, would I lie to you? Don't answer that. Yes, I am being perfectly serious when I say she did toss the bag of popcorn over her left shoulder. Of course, being a gentleman, I had to get her another. And she tossed that one over her shoulder too." Skinner looked at his empty glass surprised, as if he had expected it to always stay full. "Hey, be a good lad and pour me another drink, huh, Huck?"

            "Nope.  Not unless you can stand up and get it yourself, to which I have no proof of." Skinner pursed his lips sourly at Huck and staggered over to the brandy bottle sitting next to Huck's leg. He looked slightly perplexed.

            "Now, which one do you think will be the best? The right, left, or middle?" Huck glanced first at Skinner, then the bottle. 

            "I think maybe you've had enough Skinner. Although, I must compliment you. You're one of the funniest drunks I've ever met." Huck picked up the bottle and carried it back to a cupboard with one of the strongest locks Huck had ever seen. 

            "Hey, how come you never drink, Huck? You've been with me this entire time, and the strongest I've seen you drink is some of that toxic soup they dare to call coffee."

            "My father was a drunk, but wasn't blessed with your good nature. I can't help but worry that I might have picked that up from him, so I just steer clear of alcohol entirely."

            "And I bet you don't like the ladies because your father had the disposition to have you, eh? Come now, just one little shot?"

            "I will have a shot when you can drink a shot of the coffee with a straight face." Skinner shuddered at the thought.

            "Okay, you win for now." Skinner stood up and turned around, facing the near empty dining room. "Good night, all!" and with a flourish he staggered in the general direction of the door. 

            Huck chuckled lightly to himself, not having felt so lighthearted in a long while. He looked around the room and saw its only other occupant: Mrs. Mina Harker. She was seemingly very interested in her work, but Huck had a feeling that she had been watching them earlier. 

            Huck got up from his chair and moved down towards her, pulling out a chair, plopping himself down. He sat there for a few moments until she could not help but look up at him. "Yes, Mr. Finn?" her voice scathing. 

            "I was just wondering what you were doing up so late."

            "I happen to be working, if you don't mind." He smirked, and the pencil that was tightly gripped in her fingers cracked.

            "Just working, huh? God help the pencils if you should ever get flustered," Huck said, gesturing to the pile of broken pencil pieces sitting next to her. She stayed far too pale for it to be called a blush, but there was slightly more color in her cheeks at this remark. She sighed and put down the pieces of her newest casualty, looking Huck straight in the eye.

            "Mr. Q has decided that the task of recruiting the last member of the league is 'too dangerous for a woman, even one such as you," she said, her voice mimicking Quatermain. Huck laughed quietly, reminded again of Mary Jane and her pigheaded need to help. 

            Mina pursed her lips. "What's so funny, Mr. Finn?"

            "Oh, nothin'. You just remind of a girl I once knew. You're a lot like her."

            "How?" she asked, curious now.

            "You're both just chock full of sand." At her bemused expression he explained, "It means that you're stubborn, and you'll do anything you put you're mind too. An American term. Oh and, uh, by the way, call me Huck. They call me 'Mr. Finn' only when I get licked." Again, she looked confused. Huck laughed. "Never mind. Just remember to call me Huck."

            "All right, Huck. Good night to you." As Huck looked after her, preparing to go to his own cabin, he thought to himself. As strange as it was, Mary Jane was still the only person who could ever hold his heart. Huck got up and walked back to his own cabin, knowing that when this was finished he would go and seek her out.

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	7. Hyde and Seek

Okay, yes, I give all y'all's permission to whack me a good one upside the head. Oops. I never meant to have a two month long Writer's Block. Any of you who started out reading this and are still doing so, I applaud you for your patience. I'm sorry, schoolwork, I'm sure you all know about that. Not to mention I got a copy of the novelization for my birthday, and at first I was horrified—Sawyer in the book talked just like my Huck does. After that, it was all laughs. Skinner, a secret agent?

All of you who reviewed, I give you thanks and will now pick up a habit I adore—shoutouts.

**LotRseer-**Thank you, thank you, thank you! You have NO idea of how much help you are in writing this.

**Clez**-How do you make it so you accept anonymous reviews? I think I might have, but not sure.

Hyde and Seek

Huck was feeling rather perturbed with Quatermain at the moment. One minute late and he absolutely refused to explain what the plan for 'capturing' Hyde was.

"Look, Finn, we don't have time for this. You can just follow my lead when we get there," Quatermain said distractedly. He strode towards the door, but Huck was quicker.

Huck stepped in front of the door, blocking the way. "Nuh-uh, we are not leaving until I am completely clear on this plan. People _die_ without proper planning." With that, Huck planted his feet in a gesture that clearly said he wasn't moving.

Quatermain's face changed suddenly at the word _die_. It seemed to be filled with a great anguish—a mixture of past memories and shame at his own impatience. He sighed and looked Huck straight in the eye. It did not seem to help Quatermain's opinion of Huck that he was the youngest of the group and the only without any visible special qualities. Huck tried not to feel resentful, as it was Quatermain who had gotten him into the League. "All right," and with that they together sat down at the table and went over the plans. Huck had learned from his mistakes, and would never again go into a situation without a plan.

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"So, when we get him, and I get that, but how do we control him when we do?" said Huck. Quatermain and he were running along the dank streets of Paris. It was dark, but that was apparently the only time that this Hyde came out and the only time that the civilians were relatively safe from loose gunfire. Huck thought it a very strange coincidence that all the streets he had been in with the league were dark and damp.

Quatermain jerked his head to one side casually and said, "I'm sure when he hears what we have to offer, he'll be very willing to cooperate."

"A great big monkey?

"Well, we could say the same about you. What could we do with an inexperienced American gunslinger?" Quatermain said.

"You could be sure you'd get the Fantom. I ain't planning on stopping til he's six feet under."

Quatermain chuckled. "If all goes well, you'll get your chance. Oh, look, here comes our good Mr. Hyde."

Huck pulled out only one gun—he was a crack shot, and found that using two at a time brought down his accuracy. Huck couldn't yet see Hyde, but he trusted Quatermain and followed him up another street. Finally, he sighted the great monstrosity plodding across rooftops with amazing speed. Huck oriented himself according with the map that Quatermain had shown him on the Nautilus and remembered where he needed to go.

Huck brought the Colt up to eye level, aimed, and pulled the trigger with great care. The great beast decked out in misshapen clothing roared and swatted at its leg in annoyance.

Quatermain slapped Huck's pistol down. "We want to _capture_ him, Finn, not cripple him! Aim lower!" Huck obliged. He aimed just beyond Hyde and both he and Quatermain fired at the same time. Hyde growled and jerked his massive right shoulder, turning around and heading unknowingly into the waiting trap.

Huck was rather focused on his task, to the exclusion of all else. All he heard from Quatermain as he was aiming for another shot was, "Watch it!" and a hard yank on his collar. Huck half turned to be annoyed, but his eye was caught by a rather large and potentially fatal looking piece of rock.

Quatermain chuckled. He obviously was enjoying this. "That was naughty."

"Thanks."

"Stay aware of everything, even when you're shooting—that way there's no danger, most of the time, of getting your head turned into a permanent stain on the ground." Quatermain paused and sniffed the air. "He's afraid. Look's like you scared him, Finn. You're probably the first person in a long time who's dared get close enough to take a shot."

Huck's brow furrowed. He sniffed the air, too. "I can't smell a thing." He shook his head dismissively and followed Quatermain towards the great beast.

Quatermain took aim and fired a few shots at the chimney Hyde was hanging onto, then at the end of the rooftop holding all the shingles together. It broke, and Hyde fell down into the trap. "Welcome aboard, Mr. Hyde."

Huck walked past a rather large top hat that Hyde had discarded upon his fall. A bug crawled out of a hole and in again through the opening which is usually placed on the head. Huck closed his eyes for a moment and walked past the hat.

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Sorry, any of you who are crazy about the whole, father-son bond and want me to have it here. Huck's already had a father, and that one was more than enough. I kind of want it to be more of a colleague relationship.


	8. Transformations

Hola Buenos Dias! I'm back again, I decided not to do the same thing I did a while ago! Thanks to all of you who reviewed, even if it did look like I had a chronic case of writersblockitis.

**Capt. Cow**- I'm glad.

**LotRseer3350- **I'm glad you've kept reading! I hope that too, but it should be more than just wishful thinking. Only 9 days left of school!

Transformations

Huck and Quatermain had walked quickly back to the Nautilus in order to get there in time to—according to Quatermain—talk to the beast. Huck really wasn't quite sure Hyde would be coherent, but Quatermain seemed to know what he was talking about.

They walked up the gangplank and through the winding corridors to the freezer room. When Huck walked in, he shivered not only from the cold. Hyde was chained all over but Huck couldn't see the use of the chains; Hyde was still sending people flying with his humongous arms. Strangely enough, the monster still had his pants and shoes on. For this, Huck supposed he should be grateful.

When the others came in, Huck stepped off to one side, not wanting to be the center of attention. Quatermain was pacing in front of Hyde, and said to the newcomers, "Stay back—if you value your life." Apparently they did, for they all stood at a respectful distance. Off to one side, Dorian yanked Skinner away from Hyde—who happened to be concentrating on some sailors on the other side of the room at the time. Something flashed in Dorian's hand before it was gone, but Huck decided not to worry about that.

"Ow!" said Skinner. He faced Dorian challengingly. "You scratched me!"

"Better me than him," Dorian said, obviously implying Hyde.

Huck didn't pay any more attention to them, because Quatermain began to speak to the great beast, as if it would understand him. Huck really didn't have any reason to believe that it had any sort of intelligence. All it had done was grunt and roar and smack crew members senseless. "Mr. Hyde." That got the beast's attention. "You've done terrible things in England." England? Huck thought this was France.

Quatermain started after pausing. "So terrible that you fled the country." Oh. That cleared that one up. All these pauses for dramatic affect were getting tiring. It appeared that the things Quatermain said were agitating the beast, something Huck wouldn't have done if he was paid to do it. He had to respect Quatermain for that.

"And I'm ashamed to say that Her Majesty's government is willing to offer you amnesty," Quatermain said, stressing the last word. "You want to go home."

Then the Hyde began speaking, nearly scaring Huck out of his wits. "Home," it began. "Home is where the heart is; at least that's what they say. And I have been missing London so. Its sorrow is as sweet to me as a rare wine." Huck was amazed at Hyde's intelligence—from his voice he could sense that Hyde knew all the emotions that any other man knew, but twisted; it was missing the compassion, the caring that made men whole, which gave them their civilization. "I'm yours." It was then that Huck noticed that he had stopped referring to Hyde as 'the beast' and now thought of him as 'him' rather than 'it.'

Hyde turned to look at the rest of the League, and his gaze rested on Huck whose mouth was wide open in surprise. Hyde sniffed the air. "Don't be afraid," he said, shaking his head.

Huck shook his head in amazement. "How in the heck can everybody but me smell fear?" Mina and Quatermain chuckled at his frustration. As Huck realized he had unwittingly made himself the center of attention, he blushed and stepped back.

Dorian, who at first had been just as shocked as the rest of them at Hyde, easily regained his cynic composure. "Quite the parlor trick."

Hyde sneered at the immortal, and then said, "You wait to see my next one." He twisted his head to one side and groaned, as if forcing down something inside himself.

The next moment, there was a great _phoomp_ and Hyde was severely out of proportion. He began screaming in pain, but it was distorted. It was a mixture of his roar and something smaller, something weaker than human. It was more human, and yet less than any Huck had ever heard before. The distortions of his body continued, until one last _phoomp_ and Hyde was no longer. All that remained was a tall, skinny man covered in sweat yet shivering violently.

"Dr. Jekyll," he said panting, "at your service."

"So the League is set," Quatermain said, as if absolutely nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Huck stared at him incredulously. It appeared to him as if he had signed on for more than he was ready for. Oh well. Couldn't turn back now, not when it looked like these people would have the best chance for getting the Fantom. Not when he was so close.

The man—Dr. Jekyll—looked like he was about to collapse, so Huck walked over to him and grabbed one of Jekyll's arms and pulled it around his own shoulder. Skinner followed Huck's lead. "I'll show you to your room, if that's all right, sir," Huck said. Jekyll nodded with some form of dignity and they trudged slowly out of the freezer room. It was very easy to forget that this weak, polite man could have anything in the way of relation with the beast they had just seen, but it was apparent that they shared the same body. Huck consoled himself that, perhaps in time, he would become accustomed to such oddities.

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The frustrated-about-smelling-fear Huck came from me wondering that myself as I watched the movie. I always wondered why Tom didn't wonder either, but now I know: 'cuz Huck was! Also, little hints about Dorian's betrayal are not going to be figured out by Huck. He was never(at least I thought) the one to figure out mysteries in our Dynamic Duo, and even Tom didn't figure it out.


	9. Shop Talk

Ack—it was TWO WHOLE MONTHS ago that I last updated. Yes. Go ahead. If any of you are still reading this(Abumblebee, this means you) I give you permission to give me a swift kick in the behind. Well, I'm sorry. I was of the belief that the summer months would be more relaxed and I could steadily write the stuff I had not finished. Mainly, this. Well, the actuality of the situation is that I'm busier now than I was in the winter. Sorry for the shortness. If Abumblebee does actually kick me, I might remember better to update more often.

LotRseer3350—Gaah, I don't even know if you're still reading this. Don't blame you if you aren't. I probably wouldn't. If you are, well, this is my random scene. Haha. _Chaos reigns_…

Abumblebee/jessbaum—a. Yes, he should have tried on the hat. This I will admit. We can pretend. b. Thank you very much. That particular one has been stewing in the back off my head forever. It felt good to give it fresh air. And yes, if you're reading this, there is more. I should hope so. And so, here we go….

Shop Talk

            Huck once again found himself hopelessly lost aboard the Nautilus. They really needed to give guests a map.

            He had started out looking for the 'automobile' that Skinner had told him about. It sounded very interesting, and a very valuable asset as well. Finally, when Huck had bumped into Ishmael, he asked for directions to where the automobile could be found.

            Instantly Ishmael's eyes lit up. "So you want to learn about the automobile, Mr. Finn? Well, I'd be happy to show you. Helped the captain build it myself." Clearly, he was very proud of this creation.

            They made their way to a garage directly across from the main gangplank. In reverence, they slowly walked around it, Ishmael detailing its stats. "90 miles an hour!" Huck said. "We don't have anything back home that can even compare to this."

            Ishmael was nearly bouncing with excitement at Huck's enthusiasm. "That's right; she's a one of a kind. The idea for her was mine, but the captain was the one who figured out how to make her a reality."

            "Does she have a name?" Huck asked. Ishmael gave him a blank look. "You know, like steamboats have names. Like the Nautilus. Does she have a name?"

            Ishmael scratched his head and crouched checking the tires. "Well I never really thought about it. I suppose she doesn't have a name. Have one in mind?"

            "Yeah. Hermes." Huck was referring to the Greek messenger god, the fastest of the gods.

            "Hermes? Where did you pick up _that_ one in America?" Ishmael asked.

            Huck smiled. "Not all Americans are the stereotyped uneducated. Some of them are. I'm one of them." He smiled. "But my best friend growing up loved anything that had anything to do with adventure. He tried to educate me as much as he could. What do you think of the name?"

            Ishmael looked at his beloved automobile. "Hermes," he said. He smiled. "I think she'll live up to the name well." He opened the passenger side door. "Want to try doing it yourself?"

            Huck stared for a moment. "You mean, I could drive her? Nemo wouldn't have a hissy fit that I was touching his technology and you wouldn't be worried that I might breathe on your car wrong?"

            "Yep. You wanna?"

            Huck's face split in a wide smile. "Yeah!" and he got in the driver's seat, very eager to begin.

            Until he realized he didn't know how to turn it on. "Um… a little help here, Ishmael?" The older man laughed and began explaining the principles of the car to his attentive student.

            Eventually, Huck got the car turned on and was slowly driving around the garage. He was dangerously close to hitting the walls several times, and at these intervals Ishmael made it very clear that the correct course of action would be to stop. Right in Huck's ear.

            When they were finished, Ishmael closed the door to the garage and gave Huck very clear directions back to his quarters.

            "Thanks for letting me see this, Ishmael. I don't think you know how lucky you are, getting opportunities like this every day."

            Ishmael smiled and straightened. "Aye, I know I'm very lucky to be serving with Captain Nemo, with my being British. After this is all over, why don't you and the others stay on? I'm sure the captain would be pleased to have guests, and I could put in a good word for you."

            "I would very much like that. Out here, on the sea, it's much more open, and no society is trying to make you act proper and things. I could get used to it."

            "Well, try not to get lost on your way back, Mr. Finn. Good evening," Ishmael said as he walked away. Huck was feeling much more welcomed and very happy as he forgot the directions to his room and meandered his way back to anything recognizable.


	10. Suspicions

Wow, aren't you proud of me? I only waited about two weeks, and one of them I was on vacation! And I felt guilty. The three of you who are reading this, you get Medals of Honor for actually putting up with me.

**Scifirogue****-klutz:** AUGHHHH! FLYING MONKEYS!!! He didn't get lost because he had Skinner with him, remember?

**Abumblebee****:** Poor Hermes… destined to go down in flames. I have never seen you drive, so I wouldn't know. Thank you, I did have fun. No. I'll write, but you can't see it. You don't get to read any of this. Just scroll down blindfolded.

**LotRseer3350:** You know, I think you were my first reviewer. Thanks for sticking around. Yes, the car… I'm learning to drive. Not very good at it, but I'm trying. And trying to get this finished.

Suspicions

Huck sat down heavily in his quarters. His mind was reeling a bit. Skinner was revealed to be a traitor.

Huck was angry, too. He had become familiar and even began to like the invisible man. If Huck had known of Skinner's true loyalties… Huck only cursed himself for passing up an opportunity to find the Fantom's whereabouts and come one step closer to reaching his goal. Of course, hopefully it would be a moot point. The Fantom was arrogant enough to wait and watch his own handiwork in Venice. They would find him soon enough.

Huck rubbed his thumb on the handle of one of the Colt pistols. Tom had had his name etched on it, and he had been so proud of it. That is, until it came into practical use. It didn't mean much to have your name on your gun in a gunfight.

Huck had never used the pistols. Just the rifle. It was more accurate, had a cleaner feel. But this was the weapon he was going to use to kill the Fantom. He mimed shooting with it, and pulled the trigger. It wasn't loaded. A movement, directly opposite of Huck, caught his eye. He glanced over to the door. It was open.

Huck's rifle—fully loaded—was on the table where the movement had been. He had no other weapons closer to him. If Skinner was in the room and where Huck thought he was there was no way Huck would be able to get to the rifle first.

There was a silence, and Huck felt the other man's eyes on him. They stood like that for countless minutes, daring the other to move first.

Skinner moved. Huck heard the other man's feet hitting the ground, running towards him, and he jumped up, dropped the pistol and stood in a fighting position in front of Skinner.

Skinner just shoved him backwards, into the seat, and was out the door. "No!" Huck shouted. Stupid, stupid, stupid. How could he have forgotten the door? How? Huck kicked the chair as hard as he could, then slammed the door shut. He sat down again.

Another opportunity gone. Huck banged his head against the wall behind the chair several times. There. The stupid, angry feeling was going away. Now he could think. Though, next time counting to ten might work better.

So why didn't Skinner kill him? The rifle was there, it was even pointed towards Huck! He made a mental note to put away the rifle. Wouldn't Skinner have been angry with him for screwing up the Fantom's plans at Gray's library?

Of course, killing Huck would make it that much harder for Skinner to get out unnoticed. Although the rest of the League might be perfectly satisfied with the excuse that he had accidentally shot himself.

How had Skinner even gotten into the League? How had he been found by the Fantom? It seemed too much of a coincidence that the man who was working for the Fantom was found by 'M'. He was an invisible man, for crying out loud. Usually, that meant that you couldn't find him. How exactly would it be probable that he would be found by both sides in the fight? Unless he was planted.

Well, what if he was? He was getting shot at like everyone else in Gray's library, and he helped to take out the sharpshooters. Being an agent of the Secret Service, he knew that people were expendable, but your only spy? Unless there were more of them.

Suddenly Huck was feeling very paranoid. No, they couldn't _all_ be spies, he told his brain. That would be rather pointless. So, who could have been able to live through an accidental bullet through the head at Gray's library? Mina and Dorian Gray. And it was at Gray's house that the Fantom had ambushed them.

Huck decided that now would not be a good time to tell the rest of the League of his discovery. With all the suspicion, blame would probably fall on him. It wasn't a bad idea, actually. He _had_ been the only one who hadn't been chosen to be on the League.

Huck heard a scraping noise, and the submarine shook. "Must be close to Venice," he thought aloud. He grabbed the rifle, loaded the pistols and holstered them, grabbed his hat, and walked out the door.


End file.
